


how can i ever be thankful enough

by ThisJoyAndI



Category: 19th Century CE RPF, Victoria (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 03:50:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8041405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisJoyAndI/pseuds/ThisJoyAndI
Summary: (to have such a husband)Victoria, Albert, and their wedding night. 'Her husband is still asleep, his arm loosely curled around her waist, and she props herself up on her elbows to gaze at him. Brown hair mussed from sleep, his mouth is slightly agape as he breathes, and he is the loveliest sight she has ever beheld.'





	how can i ever be thankful enough

“You are so small,” Albert murmurs, his fingers lazily caressing her arm. They are curled facing one another in her bed, the silence of Windsor a welcome respite from the excitement of the day. Her head aches and her body longs for rest, but Victoria finds she cannot close her eyes, lest she miss a single moment of her husband looking at her, his gaze almost reverent. He sent away her servants and tended to her himself the moment she complained of feeling ill, a cool cloth gently pressed against her forehead and the heavy pins and flowers eased out from her head one by one until her hair fell over her shoulder in a cascade of brown curls. The scent of gardenias lingers in the air, Albert’s frame proving almost too long for her bed. She shall have to have another brought in, for whilst this bed may suit her, she fears it may prove uncomfortable for her husband. And she does not want him to feel uncomfortable in the slightest, not when he has made her so very content.

She narrows her eyes at him, tempted to discard the cloth and throw it at him, but that would be childish and Albert’s presence makes her want to be mature. Albert, alert as ever, senses the shift in her mood the moment it occurs, and clasps her hand in apology. “I do not mean that as an insult,” he continues softly, as if someone could overhear them if he spoke too loudly, his hand cool against her skin. “Merely an observation.”

“I cannot help it if you and Ernest were blessed with the height I should have received,” she retorts, lips quirking into a grin despite her best attempts to smother it. 

“My apologies, wife,” Albert replies, his thumb tracing lazy patterns over the back of her hand. She longs for this headache to disappear, for no matter how exhausted she may be, she wants nothing more than for Albert to continue touching her in such a manner, to clasp her to him and reveal to her the extent of his love. But he has assured her that there will be plenty of time for that later, when she is feeling better.

“Say that again.” It is almost an order, one she hopes Albert will oblige.

Albert arches a brow at her, and queries, “What? _Wife_?”

She cannot help it, she shivers at the sound. Albert’s voice has become so dear to her, his German accented English perhaps the only sound she truly longs to hear, his words so honest she regrets she did not appreciate them earlier. Albert, silently, shifts closer to her, his face so near hers. Oh, but she could look upon that face forever. She finds so many similarities within it with hers, and yet, so many differences. She shall have to have a portrait commissioned straight away, a miniature one she can keep on her person at all times.

“You would not wish to be called Victoria?” Albert presses on, his hand coming to rest on her waist. She thinks his hands could span her entire waist, and notes her desire to test such a thought. Victoria shakes her head at his question, reaching out to press a hand against his chest. The beating of his heart soothes her, for it reassures her that he is here, he is with her. For a few fearful hours she’d thought he wouldn’t be, that he would return to Saxe-Coburg and refuse her proposal, but she should have known better than that. She has known Albert for four years now, through letter and in person, and she will spend the rest of her life loving him, and he her.

“No, not here,” she tells him, resolutely. Their situation is unique, she will grant that. From today she must be both the queen of England and Albert’s wife, and she has spent many sleepless nights since she proposed marriage dwelling on how she will be able to merge such two seemingly opposing notions. “Not where we are free to be ourselves. Here, you are my husband, and I your wife. I want us to have somewhere where we can be those two things without compromise.” She swallows, her hand smoothing over his chest. “I might be the Queen, but know this - I would rather be your wife.”

Her words prompt one of Albert’s rare smiles, her husband pulling her tight against him. A hand comes to stroke over her loose hair, the other clasping hers, their entwined hands resting on Albert’s stomach. “Try to sleep now,” he says, Victoria’s eyes closing as his hand smooths over her hair one, twice, three times.

In the early hours of the morning, the sun only just beginning to stream through the window, Victoria wakes for the first time in Albert’s arms, the two entwined in the middle of her bed. Her husband is still asleep, his arm loosely curled around her waist, and she props herself up on her elbows to gaze up at him. Brown hair mussed from sleep, his mouth is slightly agape as he breathes, and he is the loveliest sight she has ever beheld. One of his feet dangle slightly over the edge of her bed, and she grins at the sight, smothering her laugh in his shoulder. They came together once during the night, more by feel than by sight, the candles having long extinguished themselves before she woke from her short sleep, feeling well enough to reciprocate Albert’s touch and eager to know every part of him. Now it is morning, the sun bathing her bedroom in soft light, and she would look upon her husband, not just feel him.

The weight of her head pressed against his shoulder must wake Albert, for when she shifts to look up at her husband once more, he is peering down at her, half-asleep. He inhales deeply, before murmuring, “Good morning, wife.”  

“Good morning,” she replies, caressing his jaw gently. Buckingham Palace has rooms designated for the monarch's spouse, and Lehzen has already set about preparing them for when they return, but Victoria does not think they will be necessary. The study perhaps, for she knows how Albert likes his solitude, but not the bedroom. Now she has experienced what it is to wake in Albert’s arms, she doesn’t want to ever deny herself such a feeling, and she suspects it may be the same for her husband, judging by the look in his eye.

She tilts her head up, Albert kissing her tenderly. His cheeks are scratchy with stubble, her loose hair enveloping them both, and Victoria has never been quite so happy.

They only have three days to spend at Windsor before they must return to London, and if they end up spending those three days abed Victoria does not think she shall mind at all. Perhaps they might take Dash and ride out, and Albert can kiss her amongst the trees like she’d hoped he would all those months ago. Whatever they do, they will do it together, and she will adore each and every moment.

**Author's Note:**

> Umm, yeah. This happened. 
> 
> I've always been a fan of V&A - The Young Victoria is one of my go-to fav period films and I'm forever tearful when I think about how Victoria had Albert's clothes laid out each and every day following his death- and so I knew that I'd adore the newest adaption. I just didn't think I'd love it quite so much. Jenna and Tom's chemistry is OFF THE CHARTS okay. It's totally not my fault. That shirt ripping scene and "Oh, you're teasing me" and their little smiles at each other after Victoria proposes now own me. It's just going to get worse with every passing ep, if I'm honest. 
> 
> Oh and yeah I totally stole "Good morning, wife" from TYV. It's sheer perfection, so I just had to use it. Sorry not sorry.


End file.
